


something tangerines

by yulbos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Polyamory, in this house we love and respect sirius self healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 16:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13505259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yulbos/pseuds/yulbos
Summary: "James knows it’s silly to put home into a person, but there’s a part of him that does it anyway."





	something tangerines

**Author's Note:**

> one day my brain asked the question: what if you write a drabble series about different dances in james' life. seven months, and 16k words later, here we are.
> 
> i honestly consider this to be the best thing i've ever written. it's been a labour of love, but i've grown so much as a writer bc of it.

2003

He hears music playing through static-y speakers long before he actually gets anywhere near the school gates. The guitar riff is light and airy, and familiar in a way that James _hates_. It’s enough to make him start dragging his feet against the rough tarmac of the pavement, pointedly ignoring the tutting noise his mother makes at him.

He hadn’t wanted to go to the stupid disco in the first place. He’d been to enough of them in his nine years of life to know that they are _always_ rubbish. But his mother had given him one of her _looks_ ; the kind that says “you’re going, even if I have to drag you by the ear”, and that had been that.

So now here he is. Sweating in the polyester shirt he’d been forced into, having been sentenced to the worst fate imaginable: watching a bunch of white kids “dance” whilst on a sugar high. The sun is beginning to set, sinking down towards the horizon, and leaving the sky stained pink and orange in its wake. The colours blend and wrap around each other, curling off in a way that reminds him of the water after he cleans his paint brushes. The houses around them are a recent development, built the same time as the shiny new school building they’re heading towards, and the bricks are so red they’re almost blinding. They stretch up to meet the clouds, they’re so tall, and they thankfully block enough sunlight to keep his face relatively cool. It’s a small kindness, in an afternoon of miseries.

His mother stands at his side, as if to stop him from trying to do a runner. Where he’d go, seeing as she locked the back door behind them, still has the key, and all his friends are _here_ , he doesn’t know. He can hear the jingle of the keys in her hand, the noise taunting him with every step.

He pauses when they reach the school gate. It’s not even a conscious choice, his feet just refuse to move past the last threshold between freedom and a few hours of bad music, the unholy smell of hairspray, and the unavoidable contamination of too much body glitter. There are kids already whizzing around the small courtyard, chasing each other across the concrete, their excited cries reaching out to greet him.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and urges him forward with a gentle nudge. He takes a reluctant step, and before he knows it he’s past the gate and on the playground. He turns to give his mum a betrayed look, but she only smiles in response.

“At least _try_ and have a good time, please.” She says, stroking her hand through his hair and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“As if.” He grumbles, rubbing at his hair with a frown. Her smile turns wistful, and then she’s gone, leaving James to his own devices. There’s not really much choice now that he’s here, and he heads further into the courtyard. A few of the other kids call out to him as he passes, and he waves back at them half-heartedly.

 

“Good evening, James.” A voice calls out, and he lifts his head to see Mrs Fenwick leaning against the gym door. Her hands are tucked behind her back, but one lifts to fuss with the silver chain of her necklace as he approaches. She smiles at him, bright and wide, and James feels his face heat up.

“Yeah, hi.” James mutters. He ducks around her, head lowered so he doesn’t have to meet her eye as he enters the gym.

There’s nothing special about the inside of the gym. In fact, it looks virtually the same as it does every other day of the year, Hallowe’en and Christmas being the only real exceptions. The only difference he can see is that there’s a dodgy looking smoke machine on one corner of the stage, thankfully turned off for the moment, and a disco ball that is unfortunately _not_. It’s too early in his evening to deal with the small congregation of kids getting excited over the whirring of the disco ball as it slowly spins in place.

Instead he heads for the open hatch of the kitchen. The dinner ladies are absent, Filch in their place. He looks as happy to be there as James feels, his permanent scowl even more prominent as he thrusts small plastic cups into the hands of expectant children. James joins the queue, if only to see Filch’s scowl deepen when he spots him.

“Lemonade, please.” He says pleasantly when he reaches the front. Filch narrows his eyes to the point that they’re in danger of disappearing behind his eyebrows.

“Anything else?” Filch demands, rubbing a hand under his nose as if James’ mere presence is enough to make him itch.

James considers causing trouble. It would be so easy to push Filch over the perpetual knife edge he lives on. But something about the tension in his face makes James pause, and a few seconds later he shakes his head. “No, thanks.” He mutters, stepping back so he’s out of the way, plastic cup gripped tightly in his hand.

Benches line two of the walls, the ones usually reserved for Year Six during assemblies, and James heads over to them. He takes a sip of his lemonade, eyes scanning the crowd of children just inside the door he’d come through. He’s so focused in fact, watching with barely concealed interest as Zeke Johnson and Anton Mulciber start jostling with each other, that he doesn’t notice someone’s sat next to him until she coughs.

“Sorry.” She says when she’s stopped laughing at the fact he visibly jumped. He turns to look at her, wiping the last few dregs of lemonade off his chin, with a scowl.

Lily Evans has always shone. It’s nothing new, and James had accepted it as a fact of life at the age of five when he’d first strolled onto the playground and seen her. It’s no different now; she shines so big and brightly, James isn’t sure how people can focus on anything else. His mum had asked him what he meant once, when he’d mentioned it (like an _idiot_ ), and when he’d tried to explain, it had been… difficult. It’s not something tangible – there is no one solid reason for this belief. It’s not physical either; her teeth are slightly crooked, she thinks crooked partings are cool, and she is _too_ tall. No, it’s something about her as a person. It’s mostly, he thinks as she snorts behind a clenched fist, the fact she can be friends with anyone and everyone.

“You make a habit of sneaking up on people?” He asks, before the filter between brain and mouth can stop him. 

“I wasn’t _sneaking_.” She says easily, stretching her pale legs out in front of her. Her dress is pink, so pale in places it’s almost white, and it falls around her knees in an inelegant bunch of fabric. “You looked unhappy.”

James frowns, and fiddles with his glasses so he doesn’t have to look at her. “‘m fine.”

“Sure.” There’s no derision in her voice, and _that_ more than anything is what annoys him. She sounds so completely sincere that he feels his hackles rise.

Lily Evans might be the world’s best friend, but James isn’t. Friends aren’t his strong suit, they never have been, regardless of effort or desire.

“What do you want, anyway?” It comes out waspish, biting and angry and frustrated, but if Lily notices she doesn’t show it. If anything, her smile gets bigger. It’s confusing. _Lily’s_ confusing. The question of why she’s still here is on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite make himself say it.

“Nothing. You just looked… lonely.” Lily says, swinging her legs and playing with the silver bracelet around her wrist. 

James doesn’t know what to say to that. Doesn’t know how to explain that he’s always been more comfortable on the outside, that being alone doesn’t mean being _lonely_ , that talking to her is making his palms sweat and his heart race.

“We’re friends, right?” Lily asks suddenly. Her legs stop, feet thudding onto the floor as she shifts to look at him.

He wouldn’t call them that exactly. They’ve been in the same class since Reception, sure, and they always invite each other to birthday parties, and they go trick-or-treating together every year. But they’re not… okay, maybe they _are_.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?” Lily pouts for a second, before shrugging. Her smile returns and she reaches over to grab James by the hand. “Friends don’t let friends feel sad.” She pulls, tipping them both off the bench so they’re standing on the edge of the dancefloor, hands clasped tightly between them.

“What?” James says, a little dumbly.

“Friends _also_ ,” Lily says, tugging at his hand until he follows her, and to his mounting horror she’s leading him to the dancefloor, “dance together.”

“No they don’t.” James says, trying to untangle himself before the next song starts. The universe is apparently conspiring against him, however, as all that happens is Lily pulling him closer until she can wrap skinny arms around his waist and dig her chin into his shoulder.

James sighs, knocks his forehead against Lily’s, and wraps an arm around her neck. It’s a little awkward; they’re essentially hugging because there’s not much actual dancing going on.

Still, James realises, as they stand there, he isn’t desperate to go home anymore.

.

 

2007

The classroom they decide to use for the Christmas party is an old one, tucked away on the bottom floor of the art block. The building itself is a relic of a time long passed, looking like it belongs in a BBC period drama more than as a functioning art block. But no matter how pretty the outside might be, the inside always smells musty; hundreds of years of recycled air packed into tight hallways and tighter classrooms.

James’ nose wrinkles as they step into the room. It’s usually used for Drama classes, and the combined stink of age and teenager sweat invades his personal space pretty much immediately. Two years of secondary school should mean he’s used to it, but it still sucker punches him every time. Sirius coughs behind a cupped palm as he toes off his shoes. He kicks at them in a futile effort to make them line up straight, but all he gets for his trouble is untied laces and mud on his socks.

James watches him for a few moments, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. He looks away when Sirius glances at him, pretending to be interested in Benjy Fenwick making rude gestures at Bertha Jorkins. The huff Sirius lets out suggests that he hasn’t bought it, but James is already strolling across the room, hands tucked in his pockets. 

Sirius follows him, because Sirius always follows him. They’re like magnets, drawn together regardless of anything standing between them. Or so Remus says. Remus, who is already sat in their usual place by the fire door, his gangly legs stretched out in front of him. There’s a book in his lap, long, thin fingers playing with the corners of the pages as he reads.

He looks up at their approach, frown morphing into a small smile when he sees who it is. Befriending Remus had been an endurance test in every virtue James knows. Just when he’d thought he knew every vital thing there was to know, something else had revealed itself and knocked him off kilter. He hadn’t been above using the onion line from _Shrek_ to prove his point on multiple, separate occasions.

“You’re late.” Remus says, pragmatic as almost always. He closes his book, top corner folded neatly when he slips it back into his bag. He raises an eyebrow when neither of them answer, and James shrugs noncommittally.

“Got held up.” Is all he offers, because there’s no way he’s telling Remus that Flitwick kept them back for flicking elastic bands at the back of Lucius Malfoy’s head. Again.

“‘Course you did.” Remus says, eyeing them as dubiously as a thirteen year old can manage. Which, James figures as he shifts around uncomfortably, is a lot.

Sirius flops down next to Remus, shrugging out of his coat and scrunching it up for a pillow. There’s a tiny Christmas tree in the corner, half of the lights are either broken or missing, and the ones that _aren’t_ are barely functioning. Sirius looks at it disdainfully, eyes narrowed as if the sight of it personally offends him.

“What are we even here for?” He grumbles half-heartedly. He lays down properly when James lowers himself to the floor, and barely complains when James rests his head on his stomach. “No one wants this stupid party; we could have just finished for the holidays yesterday.”

“There’s that Christmas spirit.” James says, voice muffled by the arm he has thrown over his face. He shifts slightly as his glasses dig into the bridge of his nose, and yelps when Sirius pokes him.

“Christmas can bite me.” Sirius says. There’s an edge to it, soft and subtle as it might be, and James lowers his arm to his chest.

“You still going to France for the holidays then?” He tries not to sound disappointed, because the sense of _loss_ he feels at the idea of not seeing Sirius for three weeks is stupid. It’s not even like three weeks is that long, in the grand scheme of things.

But being without Sirius is what he imagines waking up to find yourself missing a limb would feel like; he can function (regardless of what his mother says, he’s not _completely_ hopeless), but it’s difficult, the world feels more oppressive, more hemmed in.

“Yeah.” Sirius grunts. He doesn’t seem to notice the hand that works its way into James’ hair, fingers gently combing through the tangled mess. “I don’t even know why; they hate it. I hate it. Reg hates it. It’s just three weeks of us being pissed off at each other.”

“Misery loves company.” Remus murmurs. He’s leaning on his hands, head tipped up to the ceiling as he studies the cracks in the plaster. “At least you’ll get to go outside.”

“At least you’ll have people to talk to.” Sirius counters, but he looks sheepish, and he pats Remus’ knee sympathetically. Remus’ proposed stint in hospital for testing is a black cloud on the horizon, creeping ever closer no matter the three of them try and pretend it isn’t happening.

“I can’t wait for three weeks of being asked the same questions four times a day.” Remus smiles, as much as Remus _ever_ smiles anyway, lips twitching at the corners but never quite pulling up.

“Hey,” James says, reaching over Sirius’ skinny chest to nudge at Remus’ hip, “at least you’ll have me coming to see you.”

“The biggest gift of all.” Sirius can’t avoid the fingers jammed into his side because James’ head is pinning him place, so he lets out a bark of laughter.

“Shut up, you’re just jealous you have to wait until January for _your_ present.”

“If you’ve bought me another Terry’s chocolate orange, I swear to _God_ , James.” Remus says warningly. James tilts his head so he’s looking at Remus upside down, and frowns.

“ _One time_. You try and be nice _one time_ and see what it gets you. Two years of bullying. See if I bother this year.”

“You left it lying on the radiator.” Sirius says, body shifting under James’ head as he shrugs. “And were surprised that it had melted?”

“I wasn’t a smart eleven year old, alright?” James says defensively. “But never fear, Lupin, it’s not a chocolate orange.”

“Because _that_ fills me with confidence.”

“It should. I’m great at presents.” Sirius snorts, the sound completely undignified, and it sends the three of them into giggles.

“When d’you reckon Slughorn’s lot are gonna show up?” Sirius asks when they’ve finally calmed down.

“Buggered if I know.” James answers around a yawn. “Wish they’d hurry up though, I’m hungry and they’re the ones bringing food.”

“Classy.” Remus says, lifting an arm to cushion the back of his head.

“Well, we all know _you_ want them here for the dancing.” Sirius grins. James’ hand lands on his wrist, in a pathetic attempt at a high five. Instead of trying again, he just leaves it there with his fingers measuring the fluttering of Sirius’ pulse under his fingers. Sirius keeps very still, as if scared that moving will alert James to what he’s doing and stop.

“Remus,” James says thoughtfully, fingers tracing patterns into Sirius’ wrist, “if I gave you a fiver would you ask Dorcas to dance?”

“Not a chance.” Remus’ reply is rapid-fire quick. It comes out of him like a shot, rocking his body with the force of it, and they all stop for a moment to stare at each other.

“I mean, only if you’re _sure_ , Lupin.” Sirius says with an almost straight face. It takes him mere seconds to break, face cracking into a smile despite the obvious effort to contain it.

Remus laughs, a quiet huff of a thing that fills James’ chest with satisfaction. “If you buy me a coke, I’ll think about it.”

“Just one? You cheap bastard.” James sniggers.

Remus hums, not really bothering to deny it. Even if he were, the door opens not long after and in trail the unhappy looking faces of 9HS.

James isn’t sure… _anyone_ … likes 9HS. They’re a form group made of thugs and liars, each and every one of them guilty of at least one case of bullying. They’re all growing up to be the worst kind of bigot, and James hates them more than he’s hated anything.

Why 9MM is forced to spend time with them is anyone’s guess, but the faculty of Hogwarts Secondary School seem determined to make their students suffer at any and all opportunities. The air in the room seems to disappear when they enter, the atmosphere tense and uncomfortable even as they kick off their shoes and settle down on the other side of the room.

Lily Evans bounds across the room, from where she was standing with her friends Marlene and Dorcas, to stand in front of one of them. Severus Snape is, in James’ opinion, one of the worst of the lot. He has a way of twisting his way out of trouble; feigning ignorance and innocence to the things he does, even when there are witnesses.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here.” Lily says, smiling. James wishes he could block this conversation out of both his retinas and his eardrums, but they’re standing _right there_ , so there’s not much he can do besides grit his teeth and ignore the way his blood is boiling.

“Slughorn let us out earlier than he said he would.” Snape answers, and if the look he shoots over his shoulder at Mulciber and Lestrange is uneasy then Lily doesn’t appear to notice.

“Well, you’re here now, I s’pose.” The smile remains but it becomes a little strained at the edges when Snape does nothing but stare at her for a few moments. “Or you can. Stay. With your friends.”

“No, I.” Snape’s words seem to trip over themselves, and he has to stop for a second before trying again. “No, I’ll be over in a minute. Promise.”

“Okay.” Lily says. She turns on her heel, shoulders slumping slightly when she meets Marlene’s eye. She catches sight of James and Sirius still tangled around each other and snorts, completely inelegant. “Comfy?”

“Quite.” Sirius says, grinning cheekily up at her. “Wanna join?”

“As tempting as that is,” Lily’s lips twitch, eyes creasing at the corners, “if I get down there I’m not getting back up.”

“A shame.” Sirius lets out a mournful sigh, stroking a hair through James’ hair and huffing when said hand is batted away. “It’s nice.”

“Poof.” It’s not loud, is the thing. It’s quiet, clearly not meant to be heard, but whilst James’ eyes might be shit, his hearing is _not_ , and he freezes. He clambers to his feet, joints popping as he stretches and he levels an unimpressed look at the boy in front of him.

“Something wrong, Snape?” He asks, voice quiet and stern. It means trouble, and Sirius stands up immediately, ready for wherever this might go.

Lily hasn’t moved either, has turned back to watch them with her arms crossed tight across her chest.

“Nothing.” Snape sneers, and it’s an ugly look. One full of hate and scorn. “But if you’re going to be gross, take it somewhere else.”

“ _You’re_ still here, so why should we?” Sirius says, shifting so he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with James. James still hasn’t let go of his hand, and it’s only because he can feel how sweaty his palms are that he can tell James is nervous.

Snape narrows his eyes into a glare, which would have a lot more effect if he weren’t so scrawny.

“Now I know you don’t know what it’s like to feel love, Sniv, but that’s no reason to take it out on other people.” James says, voice managing to sound almost kind, even as his knuckles tighten around Sirius’ fingers.

“Potter,” Lily begins, stepping forward, ready to intervene when and if necessary, but Snape cuts her off.

“At least I don’t repulse girls to the point I have to turn to boys.” Snape says, sneer still in place even as his face pales.

“No, you just repulse everyone. Equal opportunities, and all that.” Sirius snaps back, voice tight.

James snorts and squeezes his hand. Sirius squeezes back and stares at Snape in annoyed defiance.

“You’re disgusting.” Snape eventually settles on, lips pressed into a thin line. “People like _you_ are disgusting.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Sniv.” James clears his throat, very much aware that Lily is standing not too far away and that he must be careful in how he says things, for her sake if nothing else. “Heard you said some nasty things about Ameena Patil the other day.”

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Lily shoots him a disapproving look, and steps back a little. It means she’s closer to James, and he _is_ sorry for this, but attempts at comfort wouldn’t be welcome right now, so he keeps his hands to himself.

“Heard you made her cry. Making an eleven year old _cry_ ; that’s real big of you.”

“Gentlemen, I trust that there aren’t any problems over there.” McGonagall’s voice floats across the room, and James turns his head to see her standing in the doorway. She has her hands on her hips, a ceramic mug filled with tea hanging precariously from two fingers, and how she’s not spilling it is honestly magic.

“None at all.” Sirius says smoothly, angling himself so his arm’s around James’ waist, and he’s placed himself in front of Snape. “Just a difference of opinion.”

“Undifferentiate.” McGonagall says, voice brooking no argument, and it almost makes James smile.

“Of course.” He meets Sirius’ eye, sees the mischief in them and nods. It doesn’t matter what Sirius plans to do, he trusts him enough to go with it.

Sirius leans forward, eyes boring straight into Snape’s, and presses his lips to James’. It’s not that James had been _expecting_ it, exactly, but he isn’t surprised. So it doesn’t take him long to lift a hand to the back of Sirius’ head and lean into it, noses bumping and glasses scratching as he moves.

There are no butterflies, and no fireworks. There’s just warmth, and hot air, and the brush of Sirius’ eyelashes against his cheek. But it’s good. It’s enough.

“ _Thank_ you, gentlemen.” McGonagall says, and it makes James pull back enough to look at her. She’s got an eyebrow raised, but there’s a tilt to the edge of her mouth that makes him think she’s fighting a smile.

Benjy wolf whistles, sending those from 9MM into amused titters. The other side of the room looks on in varying levels of disgust, and Sirius smiles at them.

James’ gaze flits to Lily, and she’s watching them, her brow furrowed. She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, and then meets his eye. She seems surprised to find him looking at her for she flushes lightly and ducks her head, before shaking herself and stepping back.

“I’ll be over in a minute.” Snape promises, and Lily offers him an aborted attempt at smile. It looks far more like a grimace than anything, and she shakes her head.

“It’s okay, you can stay with your _friends_.” With that she calmly walks back over to her own friends, head high as she goes.

James watches her go and can’t help but feel that he’s let her down somehow.

.

2010

The limo is big and gaudy, and James honestly isn’t sure why he agreed to this in the first place. But now he’s in the backseat, trapped between Sirius and Dorcas, the material of his jacket scratching at the back of his neck.

Sirius looks at him, eyes _knowing_ as they watch him fiddle with the bowtie clipped to his collar, and he reaches out to swat at James’ hand.

“Leave it.” He says, long, elegant fingers wrapping around James’ wrist and pulling his hand down to rest in his lap. “You look fine.”

“Just ‘fine’?” James asks, lips curling up cheekily.

Sirius rolls his eyes, but smiles anyway. “You’re the handsomest.”

“S’not a word.” James feels his cheeks warm, can tell they’re pink, even without the fond look Sirius is giving him.

“Totally is.” Sirius says, nodding decisively as if that’s enough to end the conversation. 

And it is, in a way. James is content to let it drop, shifting around so his head is on Sirius’ shoulder.

It doesn’t take long for Sirius to prod at his temple with a finger, huffing when James doesn’t move. “Your hair’s itchy.”

“What do you want _me_ to do about it?” James grumbles. He can feel Dorcas watching them and opens his eyes so he can wink at her. She snorts, soft and subtle, and fiddles with her dress. It’s light blue, tapered at the waist so the skirt falls around her knees in soft folds, and there’s a matching scarf tied around her afro. She looks beautiful, but when James tries to tell her this she shakes her head.

“I’m really not.” She smiles in an effort to soften the blow, as if _James_ is the one that needs protecting. It makes James frown.

He sits up, ignoring Sirius’ startled yelp, and slings an arm around Dorcas’ shoulders, tucking her under his chin. “You’re beautiful and I love you.”

Sirius’ arm snake around his waist, chin dipping into the hollow of his shoulder. “You look nice, Meadowes. _Almost_ as nice as me.” He hides his laugh in James’ neck, fidgeting when James digs an elbow into his stomach.

“Oooh,” Peter calls from further down the limo. It’s a strange feeling, having him so far away, but he’d wanted to be able to stand out the skylight, and they’d been content with the corner seat. He looks at them, his eyes creased as he smiles, and points out the window behind them. “We’re almost there!”

“There” is the hotel the school faculty had managed to rope into hosting their Year 11 Ball. It’s a low-slung building, two storeys tall with a wide, brick drive edged by barely contained plants.

The limo rolls to a stop, scattering the small crowd of year elevens outside. Remus is closest to the door, and James isn’t sure who allowed _that_ to happen. He doesn’t have to worry about the strain on Remus’ wrists, though, because the driver is opening the door before he can think to move and he feels the traces of a breeze brush across his cheeks.

“Show time.” Dorcas whispers, shrugging out from under James’ arm. She gives his knee a pat before climbing to her feet. It’s not tall enough for any of them to stand up straight, and the sight of them all hunched over, creeping to door, is enough to make him snigger.

“C’mon then, love.” Sirius says, arms slipping away as he stands up. He reaches down to offer James a hand and smiles faintly when he laces their fingers together.

“Who’s out there? Can you see?” James asks as they approach the door. 

“Benjy, Jorkins… uh, I think I see McKinnon.” Sirius answers, stopping to wait for James to climb down onto the pavement. The breeze is stronger now, pulling at the strands of hair that have escaped Sirius’ small ponytail. It works for him, softens the sharpness of his cheekbones; makes him look a little less angry at the world.

James lifts his free hand to brush at Sirius’ fringe, smirking when Sirius pulls a face at him and tries to wriggle free.

Remus and Peter fall into place either side of them, and James claps Peter on the shoulder.

“Ready to have fun, lads?”

Remus sighs and shakes his head. “I’d rather be literally anywhere else.”

Sirius’ face lights up in the kind of grin that announces to the world that he’s about to say something stupid, so James cuts him off. “C’mon now, Remus. I know how much you want to finally get that dance with Dorcas.”

“Who’s dancing with me?” Dorcas asks. She’s standing with Bertha Jorkins a few feet away, and it’s only now that they’re next to each other that James realises they’ve colour coordinated.

Bertha flicks long blonde hair over one shoulder and narrows her eyes at them. She’s chewing on the inside of her bottom lip though, which James _knows_ means she’s trying not to smile. “No one but me, I’d hope.”

“Well that’s a shame, because Remus-” James is cut off when the boy in question slaps a hand over his mouth and shrugs.

“Is quite happy to leave you to it.” His hand drops to James’ shoulder, and he uses the newfound leverage to steer James away. “Why are you so embarrassing?”

“It keeps you nimble.” James says. “Besides, if I weren’t embarrassing _for_ you, you’d never get anywhere.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to.” Peter says, deftly ducking out of the way when Sirius tries to ruffle his hair. He aims a hurt look at him and reaches up to gingerly fuss with his fringe. Peter’s hair has always worked against him; a double cowlick sending whatever semblance of control he manages to muster into turmoil pretty quickly.

James looks between them thoughtfully, mouth pulling into a slight pout. “I would hope,” he says eventually, eyes oddly serious as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “that if that’s true, Remus’d tell me.”

The smile Remus gives him is small, but it is genuine, and it eases the tightness in James’ chest. “I don’t mind. Honestly.”

“Good.” James says, and that’s that. Well… it’s not, but the conversations about boundaries and knowing when to stop will come another day, when they’re tucked away in his room with a cup of tea each and a packet of hobnobs.

“Now that that’s sorted, you want to go inside? It’s too bloody hot out here.” Sirius asks. Even with the breeze, it’s almost stifling, and the other three agree almost immediately.

James lets Sirius lead the way, sticking close to Remus just to triple and then quadruple check that he’s truly alright.

As they walk into the foyer of the hotel, a small cream room with… questionable carpet, and a narrow staircase leading up towards what actually looks like a spacious landing, James tenses.

It’s as if there’s a small part of him attuned to everything Lily Evans does, because he picks her voice out long before he sees her, and what he hears is enough to tell him to stay away. Heading further down will put them in her path, but going back out the front door will mean going back out into the heat. He shares a helpless look with Peter and the four of them quickly tuck themselves into a small cluster of overstuffed armchairs. They’re uncomfortable, too hard against James’ back and he shifts around to try and find a better position. He’s mostly doing to try and block out the sound of Evans’ voice, but it’s to no real avail.

“I’ve been making excuses for you for _years_. No one even understands why I still talk to you. I’m done pretending I’m okay with the way you treat people. People like me.”

“No… listen, I. I didn’t…” Snape, for the first time in living memory, sounds flustered, and if Evans didn’t sound so much like the world is falling apart around her, it would be enough to make him smile.

“Mean to call me a dyke? But that’s what I am to you! Lily Evans, too confused to know who or what she’s attracted to.”

“Lily, I-.”

“Don’t. Just… don’t. Goodbye, Severus.” Lily says. A few moments later she’s standing in front of them, her eyes wide as she realises they’ve heard.

“Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, Evans.” Sirius manages to keep his voice casual, but James can see the way his knuckles are standing out against his skin. He knocks their knees together because it’s the only part of Sirius he can reach, and he’s too hot to move.

“S’okay.” Lily keeps her distance, but her shoulders relax ever so slightly. “It had to happen sometime. Can you… pretend you didn’t hear the last part?”

“No judgement here.” James says, eyes drifting to Sirius almost immediately, and when he glances back at Lily he smiles. “But no worries. Your secret’s safe with us, Evans.”

She releases a breath and steps even further back. “Thank you.” She’s gone a moment later, disappearing further into the building.

They don’t talk about it, not only because Lily asked them not to, but because as far as they’re concerned it’s none of their business. James and Sirius, in particular, know the pains that accompany rumours, know how they can sting even if you’re not _bothered_.

“I want food.” James says eventually, watching the last few people swish past into the dining room beyond. He doesn’t really want to go in there, truth be told. He can hear the faint sounds of bad music and he has no real interest in subjecting himself to it full force, but his stomach growls and his decision is made.

The dining room is a long, thin area that was clearly never meant to contain ninety unruly sixteen year olds. James appreciates the effort though, because as cramped as it is, the room is nice.

Nine large tables take up three quarters of the room, stark white tablecloths standing out against the dark floorboards. There’s a bouquet of flowers in the centre of each table, and James knows, even before Sirius shimmies over to one and pulls a rose out of the vase, that that’s a bad idea.

“For you.” Sirius says, offering him the rose. It’s a pale grey, the petals silk instead of natural, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less pretty, and James tucks it behind an ear with a grin, securing it with his glasses.

“Thank you, kind sir.” James pats Sirius on the cheek, brushes fingers over his cheekbone and then flits over to the next table. There’s a single, mulberry coloured rose standing amongst the other flowers, and he plucks it. “Now we match.”

Sirius takes it with a pleased smile, a light blush and, with Peter’s help, secures it in his ponytail.

“Do they have to flaunt it in our faces all the time?” Comes a sneering voice from behind them, and Sirius spins on his heel.

Anton Mulciber, Rabastan Lestrange, and Narcissa Black stand behind them. They’d appear regal, almost, if it weren’t for the looks on their faces. They’re ugly, waspish and cruel, and clearly out on the hunt to cause hurt.

“Sorry.” Sirius says cheerfully. He wraps an arm around James’ waist and leans into him deliberately. “I’ll try and tone down how obnoxiously gay I am, yeah? Wouldn’t want to offend.”

Narcissa knows a losing battle when she sees one and, with her lip curled, stalks off. Mulciber and Lestrange look unhappy about it, but soon follow her.

“ _Pricks_.” Remus comments, sending Sirius into a coughing fit as he chokes on a laugh. “Well, I mean they _are_.”

“Oh, he knows.” James says, rubbing a hand between Sirius’ shoulder blades in a futile effort at helping. He watches Evans enter the room, hands shoved into her trouser pockets. She looks frustrated enough to fight the entire world and there’s a part of James that wants nothing more than to go and help.

“You can go, if you want.” Sirius says. He knows, because of course he knows. The idea that he doesn’t is almost insulting, and James presses a kiss to the crown of his head, inhaling the soft scent of grapefruit. “We’ll still be here when you come back, won’t we, lads?”

“ _If_ he comes back.” Peter murmurs, sinking down onto one of the chairs at the nearest table and sighing happily.

Sirius looks him in the eye, and it’s such a _knowing_ look, as if Sirius has his very soul laid before him, and smiles. “When he comes back.”

James pretends the wink Sirius gives him doesn’t make him feel incredibly warm and quickly makes his way across to Lily.

“Alright, Evans?” He knows it’s a silly thing to ask, but it’s all his brain will give him in the moment.

“I’ve been better.” Lily’s reply is so dry it takes him a moment to realise she’s joking. “No offence, but what do you want, Potter?”

“Nothing. You just looked… lonely.” He isn’t really sure how to proceed from here, but something about this feels familiar, _right_. “Look, I know we haven’t spoken all that much recently, but I’d like to think we’re still friends?”

“I suppose.” She allows, careful. He can’t blame her, it’s not the best word choice after Snape, but his mouth actively works against him ninety percent of the time and it’s something he’s just learnt to live with.

“As your _friend_.” he says, offering her a hand. There’s a glint in his eye, the kind that promises trouble and a good time, and Lily takes it after the briefest pause. “I can’t stand by and let you be sad. Nor can I let you pass tonight by without at least one dance.”

.

2013

“How many of these fucking things do we even have to go to?” Sirius grumbles, tugging at the bottom of his shirt and scowling when none of the creases magically vanish.

“No fewer than ‘too many’.” Remus says, grinning when Sirius and James groan at him.

“Shut up, Lupin. That was bad, and you should feel ashamed. It’s just this one. One more sodding school ball and then we’re home free.” James says, so earnest Sirius wants to believe him.

“And then we’re on to the dazzling heights of university summer dos.”

James gives him a flat look. “As if we’re going to actually go to those.”

“Well, _you_ might not. I, however, will be living it large in Southbank. My horizons will be broadened and soon I’ll forget all about you bellends.” Sirius sniggers, which ruins whatever effect he might have been able to muster. He plays with his fringe, trying to be subtle as he watches James through his fingers, but fails miserably.

James snorts. “As if. You’re not getting rid of me, no matter how hard you try.”

“So not very, then.” Peter pipes up from where he’s lounging across the bottom of James’ bed. There’s a magazine in his hands, and how he manages to read upside down will never not boggle James’ mind.

“Shut it, Pettigrew.” Sirius says, flustered. “Flustered” for Sirius means his cheeks are very faintly stained pink and he refuses to meet anyone’s eye. “S’not my fault he’s so… _James_.”

“Should I be offended?” James asks, frowning at his reflection when his hair won’t cooperate with him.

“Trust me, it’s a compliment.” Sirius mutters. He glances at his phone and sighs at the time. “We’d best get a move on, if we’re going.”

“I spent thirty quid on these shoes; I don’t care how miserable we are, we’re _going_.” Remus says. There’s no room for argument in the way he says it, and the look on his face dares them to try and find one.

“Come on, then.” James says, watching Sirius pull Peter to his feet. The magazine drops onto his duvet, pages creasing as it lands.

His parents aren’t home, so they don’t have to worry about being fussed over by his mother. He’s uncharacteristically grateful for that. Not because he wouldn’t secretly enjoy it, but because the look on Sirius’ face as she combed his hair through her fingers would be too much for him to handle.

Instead they shove their feet into their shoes and reluctantly bend down to tie their laces. Remus is the only one who doesn’t, his shoes are just slip-on and he smiles smugly at them. James is only… incredibly jealous when his knees crack as he bends down.

The walk to the bus stop is quiet. It’s strange, in a way. They’re usually so boisterous and full of life, bouncing off of each other so effortlessly it’s like they’re part of the same person. No matter how it might appear to other people, they can’t actually read each other’s minds, so James can’t speak for the others, but he knows why _he’s_ quiet. And, to a lesser extent, why Sirius is as well.

However much they might joke about this being the ‘end’, there is a legitimate fear underlying everything. Year Eleven hadn’t affected them too much because they all knew they were going on to the same Sixth Form. But they’re nearing the end of Year Thirteen now, and this… this is different. Exams are approaching, looming just on the edges of the horizon, and with them the promise of the future. The big, scary, uncertain future where they’re all going to be in different places with different people and different experiences.

It’s terrifying. It’s exciting. It’s terrifying. James can’t wait, but at the same time he wants time to stand still forever in this moment where the four of them are happy. Together. He’d been a lonely little boy desperate for a friend, once. Now he has a group of people he loves so fiercely he’s not sure how to handle it. To love so wholly, so completely, is overwhelming. And the fact that in a few short months it’s going to be over is so out of the realm of comprehension James doesn’t know how to begin processing it.

This ball, this one final evening where their entire year is together for the last time ever is scary. Once it’s over and the morning brings a new day, school will still go on as usual. They’ll still have classes. Exams. But it won’t be the same. Can’t be. They’ll have waved goodbye to childhood, whether they realise it or not, and James isn’t ready to face that.

Neither is Sirius, although he’d never admit it. He’s too stubborn. Too proud. He likes to pretend he doesn’t like the majority of their year group, but he can’t lie to James. James, who sees the way he softens when Bertha and Dorcas sit with him in Psychology, hands clasped under the table as Trelawney rambles on about Zimbardo and the prison experiment. Whatever that means. James’ mind can’t wrap itself around the intricacies of the brain. Which, he realises, is hilariously ironic. He’s seen Sirius deconstruct every wall he’s ever locked himself behind. The thing that scares him more than anything is the fear that when they go their “separate” ways he’ll put them back up again.

Sirius perks up slightly when the bus eventually turns up, change jangling in his hand as he pays the driver for his ticket.

“I wonder if there’ll be a bar.” He says, as he leads the way up to the second deck.

“‘Course there will.” Peter answers, rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead when he reaches the top of the stairs. It’s muggy outside, and the warm June air is affecting all of them. Peter just happens to be unfortunate enough to show it. “The teachers wanna get drunk just as much as we do.”

“You make a compelling point.” James says. He lifts his glasses so he can rub at his eyes and huffs out a breath.

“Excellent.” Sirius says, clapping his hands together. He’s halfway to the back seat, shoulders hunched so his head isn’t scraping against the ceiling. A painful lesson learnt by all of them over the past few years. Growth spurts are, to put it bluntly, a bitch. “There’s a vodka and coke with my name on it.”

“That’s true of every bar in Oxford.” Remus mutters, shooting James a grin when he snorts.

“Now, now.” Sirius says, neatly spinning so he can sprawl across the back seat. Peter takes his usual place in the seat in front, back leant against the window with his feet up on the seat cushion. Remus takes the seat opposite, arm wrapped around the back of his chair, left foot tucked under his right thigh. “No need to get snarky with me, old man.”

Remus scowls at the nickname. At least, James _thinks_ that’s what he’s scowling at. It’s hard to tell with Remus, sometimes. He’s a scowl-y sort of person. Learning to tell the subtle nuances apart is a skill unto its own, and it’s taken James close to six years to feel anywhere close to having mastered it.

James knocks their knees together as he passes. He slips into the space left for him as if it’s where he’s meant to be, as if it’s been _waiting_ for him. His back hits Sirius’ shoulder and he watches Sirius’ hand drop in front of his collar bone. He studies it; the slender wrist tapering into a long palm and longer fingers, one of which is crooked from the time he punched Lucius Malfoy’s face so hard he broke it. Sirius claims it’s worth it, because he also broke Malfoy’s nose. There’s something fascinating about Sirius’ hands, James thinks, reaching so he can play with it. Not that Sirius as a whole isn’t fascinating, because he is, but there’s something about his hands that capture James’ attention.

Sirius is anger and bitterness and hard edges. It’s the way he’s always been, and James doesn’t see that changing any time soon, and he doesn’t want it to. But his _hands_. They’re soft and gentle, quick to take away the hurts of the world, and so eager to _help_ it’s painful to watch Sirius stop himself.

“Having fun?” Sirius asks, and there’s a laugh in his throat, painting his words with sunshine.

“Not really.” James says, refusing to look at either Remus or Peter. He’s well aware of how pathetic he is, he doesn’t need their knowing smiles as a reminder. “Your finger’s rank, mate.”

“Fuck off, I got that defending your honour.” Sirius says without any heat.

“Hard to defend what you don’t have.” Peter mutters, smile only growing wider when James glares at him.

“I have plenty of honour, thank you very much.” He grumbles. He feels Sirius’ snort against the back of his head, and swats at his leg. “You didn’t have to break Malfoy’s nose, you know.”

“Yes I did.” Sirius says. James doesn’t see his decisive nod, but he doesn’t need to. “He’s an arsehole, and what he said to you was disgusting.”

“I’m sure he’s learnt his lesson.” James says dryly, mostly because he can’t be bothered to have this argument again.

“Even if _he_ didn’t, I did.” Sirius says and James can hear the smile in the way his words gentle around the edges. “Protect your thumbs when you punch people.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Remus says as he shifts his weight around. “You know, for all those fights I get in.”

“Please do.” Sirius snorts. “I’ve only got your best interests at heart.”

“My arse.” Peter mutters.

Sirius is going to answer back, because he’s _Sirius_ and he can’t resist having the last word. But before he can, the bus lurches to a stop and sends them all scrambling to keep their balance.

“Shit, this is our stop, lads.” Peter says, barely dodging the swipe Sirius aims at him.

“Nice going, lookout.” He grumbles. There isn’t any heat behind it, although he does manage to kick Peter in the shin as they get up.

“You’ve lived here your _entire life_.” Remus points out, placing himself between the two of them when they stand up and start making their way towards the stairs. “If you don’t know which bus stop is the right one maybe you’re not that smart after all.”

“I didn’t see you pointing it out either, Mr English-Degree-At-Cambridge.” Sirius complains. It’s such a childish response from someone usually three steps ahead of everyone else that it makes James snort.

“Treacherous wanker.” He says. Remus grins at him.

“Their course is better than ours.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re off the Christmas card list.” James shoves at his shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him pay attention to where he’s putting his feet. The stairs are steep, and the last thing any of them need is Remus breaking something.

The street is thankfully clear when they step onto it; tourist season is at least three weeks away, so the only people they have to worry about are obnoxious students, and exhausted workers having finished their shifts. They say thanks to the surly bus driver, and fall into step as James starts walking.

Town is always a mad rush of taxis, buses operating on _at least_ fifteen different routes, and secondary school kids with too much time and not enough to do. By the time they get to Carfax Tower, James is ready and willing to just forget the whole thing and find the nearest pub instead.

He doesn’t. They cross the street, Peter narrowly avoiding getting hit by an angry looking taxi driver as he steps up onto the pavement. Remus’ laugh is dangerously close to giggling as he reaches out to pull Peter further into him and away from the road.

“Clumsy.” He admonishes, but the way he says it also includes James and the fact he’s now walking backwards so he can watch them.

Sirius spins him before he can walk into one of the concrete bollards lining the pavement, and rolls his eyes at the grin he’s given in return.

“I was being careful.” James says, voice verging on a whine, just to hear the annoyed huff Sirius lets out. He uses the grip Sirius still has on his shoulder to pull Sirius closer, wrapping both arms around him and resting his head on a bony shoulder. “My hero.”

Sirius shoves him, detangling himself so he can walk on ahead, but James catches the smile, can see his shoulders shaking.

“Isn’t he a hero, Peter?” He says, loud enough for Sirius to hear, grin still firmly in place.

“Undoubtedly.” Peter mutters, voice dry as he straightens the sleeves of his jacket.

“Fuck ooooooooooff.” Sirius groans, slowing down so they can catch up with him. He digs his elbow into James’ ribs. “You’re a pain in the arse, you know that?”

“So I’m told.” James says cheerfully. In apology, he presses a kiss to Sirius’ temple, fingers brushing against a curled fist in invitation.

“It’s a good thing I like you.” Sirius grumbles, taking the hand offered to him without comment. He strokes his fingers over the top of it and James knows he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

“If you were truly angry you’d have buggered off already.” Remus says, digging his phone out of his pocket so he can check the time. “We’d best get a move on; doors open in ten minutes.”

“Come on then, boys.” James says, as if they aren’t already on their way there.

Peter makes an inelegant noise and shrugs when Remus looks at him. They share a quick smile and raised eyebrows before traipsing after him.

The hotel, when they reach it fifteen minutes later, is a fancy looking building three stories high. There’s a thick, plush looking carpet lining the front steps that James is almost afraid to stand on lest he ruin it somehow.

There are a few of their classmates loitering around the front door, chatting amongst themselves.

“Doors not open yet?” Peter asks as they approach, sharing a friendly smile with Bertha.

“Everyone’s already gone in.” She says with a shake of her head. “We’re waiting on Lily and Benjy.”

“Want us to wait with you?” Sirius asks, free hand reaching for the inner pocket of his jacket.

“You just want a fag.” Dorcas says, mouth curling into a smirk as she steps up behind her girlfriend, arm wrapping around her waist.

Sirius shrugs, unrepentant as he pulls a cigarette out and lifts it to his lips. It takes him a few attempts to get his lighter to work, but the inhale he takes is satisfied when he eventually manages.

James leans against the wall, eyes scanning the corner opposite them. Remus shifts restlessly beside him and he slides his gaze over to him.

“You wanna go in?” He asks.

Remus nods, scuffs his foot against the concrete slab of the pavement. “I need a piss.”

Peter’s already half way up the stairs by the time Remus even makes the first signals of moving. He shrugs at the look he’s given. “I need a drink.”

“We’ll find you.” James promises, as if there’s no question of him staying out here with Sirius.

Sirius doesn’t say anything about it, sways further into James’ personal space, giving a pleased grunt when their hips knock together. He takes another drag of his cigarette, careful to blow the smoke away from James.

“I’m not going near you smelling like that.” James says, contradicting himself as he lets go of Sirius’ hand so he can wrap his arm around his shoulders instead.

“I know.” Sirius murmurs, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Dorcas is watching them with the barest traces of an amused smile, her lips curling ever so slightly at the corners. James can see the moment her attention shifts, sees the way her eyes glaze as she looks over his shoulder.

“Fucking finally!” She calls as James twists his head to look where she is. Lily’s on the other side of road, dress billowing in the breeze of a passing taxi. It’s a pretty colour, James notes; a deep burgundy that bleeds into purple in the dying sunlight. 

“Got stuck in traffic!” Lily answers, holding up the hem of her dress as she jogs across the street. Benjy trails behind her, not in any hurry as he waits for a car to drive past before stepping off the curb.

“Bus driver was a wanker.” Is the first thing that Benjy says, edging past James so he can greet Dorcas with a wet kiss to the cheek.

The thing James has learnt about Benjy over the past eleven or so years is that it’s honestly best not to ask. So he doesn’t. Instead he turns to Lily, gives her a smile, and says “You clean up alright, Evans.”

“Oh, shut up.” She laughs, stepping into him so she can give him a hug. “You alright?”

Sirius straightens up, drops the butt of his cigarette on the ground and steps forward. “He’s a pain.”

“Isn’t he always?” Lily asks, grinning as Sirius tugs her into a hug of his own.

“I’m standing _right here_.” James complains, staunchly ignoring the fact that Bertha, Dorcas, and Benjy are all laughing at him.

“That’s what makes it fun.” Lily promises, eyes amused. She frees herself from Sirius’ arms, but sticks close, and tilts her head at them. “Are we going in, or did you want to stand out here all night?”

James pulls a face at her. It morphs into a gentle smile when he feels Sirius’ hand slip into his again, and not even the unamused look Sirius is giving him is enough to diminish it. He offers Lily his other arm, and together the three of them make their way towards the front door.

 

2017

The first time Lily kisses him, they’re in a shady bar in southern Barcelona. There are the faintest traces of oranges and tequila on her tongue, but she mostly doesn’t taste like anything. The bass pumping through the speakers is heavy enough to leave his legs feeling numb, and if it weren’t for the fact that Sirius’ hands are on his hips, he knows he wouldn’t still be standing.

Sirius hands, which are perilously close to the hem of his t-shirt. His sneaky, _sneaky_ thumbs playing with the edges of it, brushing against his stomach every few seconds.

Sirius knows what he’s doing. Knows when and what is too far, even for an intoxicated James, and so his fingers don’t go any further. James is partially grateful, partially… _mostly_ … frustrated. There’s an itch under the surface of his skin that he wants to scratch, and he can feel the knowing smile against the curve of his neck as Sirius ducks his head. Because Sirius is an arsehole and _knows what he’s doing_.

The bass drops, unfathomably even lower than before, and the crowd presses closer in response. One of Sirius’ hands leaves his hip to reach out for Lily. Long, elegant fingers wrap around her forearm and pull her further into James. Which is impressive, in all honesty, seeing as she has a hand in his hair and one of his legs is between her thighs. She stumbles slightly at the movement and he feels both of their hands land back on his waist. She laughs against his mouth, breath ghosting out over his cheek.

He pulls back a little, just so he can look her in the eye. Lily’s lipstick is smudged, worn away from all those tequila sunrises she’d insisted on drinking. Her eyes are bright, a mix of alcohol and adrenaline, no doubt.

“Is this okay?” He asks.

“Idiot.” The hand in his hair moves down to his shoulder as she hugs him. He feels her chin dig into his shoulder; feels Sirius’ fingers flex against his hip and then hears both of them sigh.

James might be an idiot about a lot of things, but Sirius is not one of them. He knows what that particular noise means and it makes him feel warm. Happy. Safe.

Her hand leaves his shoulder completely and he feels the air around the back of his head shift. Her forearm presses against the side of his neck and he’s content to rest his hands at the small of her back.

She steps back a few minutes later, flushed and smiling. Her pale cheeks are pink and she scrubs a hand over her face. “I need air.”

James isn’t given a choice as to whether he wants air too or not, because she grabs him by the hand and pulls him after her. There’s no question of Sirius following them, because of course he is. They stumble up a narrow staircase, the walls either side of them shaking with the music, and up to a rather rickety door.

The rooftop garden they step out into is nice, and more importantly, empty. Quiet. Or, as quiet as an area of a club can be during open hours. A wooden awning protrudes from the wall, fairy lights woven between the slats and twinkling merrily as Lily leads them over to one of the picnic tables set up at the other end. There’s a potted plant stood at the end of the table and James starts playing with the leaves as soon as he sits down. Beside him, Sirius reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, a purple lighter following soon after.

Lily sits opposite them, hands still clasped with his across the table, and she tilts her head at them. “You’re nervous about this?”

James realises she’s only asking him from the fact she frown at his silence, so he shrugs and avoids looking at her. “Should I not be?”

“Not really.” Sirius says as he lights the cigarette and inhales. “Nothing to be nervous about.”

“Nothi-.” James shakes his head. “There’s _everything_ to be nervous about!”

“Not really.” Sirius repeats, and James realises he isn’t joking. “We all like each other. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

“It’s more complicated than that, though.”

Lily hums, a thoughtful noise that makes James pause. “I’m not sure it is. I like you. Both of you.” She grins at Sirius, lightning quick, and it’s only because James is looking at him that he sees Sirius wink back. “We can figure the rest out together, right?”

“I guess.” James knows this isn’t the answer, or the end of this. He also knows sitting on a rooftop whilst drunk isn’t going to get them anywhere either.

“Serious shit is for sobriety.” Sirius proclaims. “Nothing wrong with having fun _now_ , if we know it gets talked about later.”

And that… James is a lot more comfortable with that than he would be sober. The idea of trying to hammer out the details of whatever _this_ is with vodka running through his veins is enough to make his head pound. The rational part of his brain knows that one conversation will never be enough to figure out what they are; knows there will be days, weeks, months, for them to navigate whatever they’re on the precipice of.

So he smiles, a small, happy thing, and says “Okay.”

Sirius must see something in his face, because he leans forward, cigarette dangling between his thumb and forefinger, and kisses him. The smell of cigarette smoke permeates everything, clouds all of James’ senses until all that’s left is the feel of Sirius’ jaw under his fingers and the press of Sirius’ lips.

Lily’s watching them, her expression so unbelievably soft it leaves James short of breath for a moment. Although that may also have something to do with the cigarette smoke. He isn’t a hundred percent sure anymore.

“Wanna dance some more?” Lily asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

James’ answering yawn cracks his jaw, but it startles a laugh out of both Lily and Sirius.

“So that’s a ‘no’.” Sirius grins. He stands, joints creaking as he stretches his arms above his head. “Come on then.”

There’s a fire escape down the side of the building that they are undoubtedly not supposed to use. It doesn’t stop them, and when they hit the ground, they’re giggling. Lily straightens her dress and skips forward so she’s next to them.

It's James that reaches out this time. There’s nothing _special_ about it; they weren’t made to slot together, there’s nothing _poetic_ about them holding hands. But her palm is warm against his, and it feels nice. That’s enough. Sirius’ arm settles around his shoulder, pulls him close. James knows it’s silly to put home into a person, but there’s a part of him that does it anyway. Has always done it where Sirius is concerned. It feels a little more complete tonight.

“Hotel?” Lily says, voice quiet as they stroll out onto the street. They take up the entire pavement, but James can’t find it in himself to care that people have to move around them.

“May as well.” Sirius’ voice is just as quiet, and that’s that.

The walk back to their hotel is nice. Peaceful, almost, and James wishes his brain were alert enough to pay attention to Barcelona at night. Instead, all he can think about is curling up in bed and sleeping for the next twelve hours. He lets Sirius lead the way and focuses on putting one foot in front of the other without ending up on his face.

By the time they actually get to their hotel room, James’ head feels heavy and keeping his eyes open is becoming an increasingly difficult challenge. Still, he’s aware of Sirius opening the door and tucking the card back into the pocket of his jeans. He still has a hold of Lily’s hand, and she gently tugs free as he steps into the room.

“I’m gonna go to bed, okay?”

Sirius shakes his head and raises a shoulder. “You could sleep in here. If you want.”

James’ vision blurs as he nods. “Please?”

Lily considers them for a moment and then shrugs. “Let me get my stuff.”

Her “stuff” turns out to be a pair of Spiderman pyjama bottoms, an oversized blue t-shirt, and her toothbrush.

James is leaning against the sink when she appears in the en-suite’s doorway, toothbrush hanging out the corner of his mouth as he washes his hands. She looks at him, lips quirked, and then pushes past so she can get to the toilet.

James dries his hands on one of the small towels piled next to the tap and avoids looking at Lily. He hears her snort and resolutely doesn’t look at her.

“I know it might come as a surprise, Potter, but girls piss too.”

He feels his own smile and leaves the room before she sees it, leaving his toothbrush on the edge of the sink. Sirius is already in bed, arms crossed behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. He glances over at James when he hears his approach and offers him a small smile.

“You okay?” James asks as he clambers onto the bed. He doesn’t bother pulling the duvet over himself until he’s settled and Sirius tuts at him.

“Fidget.” Sirius grumbles, humming when James wraps an arm around his waist and buries his face in his collar bone. “‘m happy.”

“Me too.”

“Me three, if it counts for anything.” Lily says, head peeping around the edge of the bathroom door. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and then turns the bathroom light off. She shuts the door behind her and then slowly approaches the bed.

“‘Course it does.” James mumbles. He yawns. “‘m tired.”

Sirius scoffs, the movement of it dislodging James slightly. “No shit.”

“Shut up.” James complains, readjusting so he’s comfortable again.

The mattress dips under Lily’s weight and having her in close proximity makes James’ back warm. It’s nice, but he knows that sooner or later they’re going to overheat.

There’s a tentative hand at his waist, fingers lightly resting on his hipbone until he reaches out to pull it more firmly around him. He laces their fingers together and squeezes gently. Sirius flicks the bedside lamp off and shifts a little until he’s lying down properly.

“I never thought I’d have this.” Lily whispers and James frowns.

“Me neither.” Sirius answers, his voice so quiet in the dark it’s almost impossible to hear him.

James doesn’t say anything to that, knows there isn’t anything he can say. Not anything Sirius will accept, anyway. So he presses a kiss to his shoulder and tightens the arm around Sirius’ waist. It’s as close to “I love you” Sirius will let him get at the moment.

“I’m glad you’re here.” James says. He isn’t sure who he’s saying it too, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

Sleep comes for him not long after and when he wakes up the three of them are in roughly the same positions they’d been in before. The only major difference is that the duvet is now hanging off the end of the bed and Lily is plastered against his back, one of her feet trapped between his. Sirius has rolled over so he’s facing James, chin almost resting on the top of his head.

James blinks himself awake to a mouthful of Sirius’ hair and an elbow digging into his bladder. There’s a gentle, almost subtle, pounding behind his eyes that isn’t going away any time soon and he groans at how bright the sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains.

It’s not a loud sound, particularly. More of a noisy huff than anything, but it’s enough to make Sirius stir. He’s always been a light sleeper, and he wakes up quickly, eyes alert and scanning the room.

James shifts closer, fingers tugging on the t-shirt Sirius is wearing until he looks down.

“Morning.” James says as quietly as he can manage. The arm Lily has around his waist is like an iron brand with how much heat she’s giving off, and James can feel the tell-tale trickle of sweat on the back of his neck.

“Morning.” Sirius rasps. He shuffles around until he’s lying on his back, eyes slightly unfocused as he stares up at the cracks in the ceiling. “Time is it?”

James is about to retort that _Sirius_ is the one closest to his phone, when he realises he’s still wearing his watch. He glares at it, brain uncooperative as he tries to read the numbers and eventually he gives up, thrusting his arm into Sirius’ face.

“Move your fucking arm, dickhead.” Sirius complains, pushing James’ arm away from his nose so he can actually tell the time. “Shit. No way we’re going on that tour Evans wanted; it’s quarter to one.”

“Good.” James says, burrowing deeper under the covers. “Wanna stay here anyway.”

Sirius grins, small and quick. He turns his head so he’s looking at James, eyes all fond and _happy_ , and James knows if he says anything he’d blame it on being tired. He lifts a hand and his fingers are gentle as they brush through James’ hair.

“We _should_ go explore. Flight home’s tomorrow.” He points out, voice still soft and gentle. James likes it best when he’s like this; when he forgets to hate the world, shows the softness under his edges. He doesn’t get to see it very often. He treasures it.

He also knows that Sirius is right, to some degree. They’ve got some last minute shopping to do, and they’d promised Lily they could go back to _Catedral de Barcelona_. Again.

It’s with that in mind that he claws his way out of bed, wrestling with the firm grip Lily has on his pyjamas until he’s free. He crawls to the end of the bed and almost topples off when pain lances through his skull. “Fuuuuck.”

The only response he gets for his trouble is Sirius laughing and he’s in too much pain to do anything more than wave a middle finger in his general direction.

He stumbles towards the bathroom, one hand clamped to his forehead in the desperate attempt to physically hold the migraine at bay. There isn’t a window in the bathroom so he flicks the light on, and thankfully it’s dim enough that he can actually open his eyes without feeling like his head’s about to split in two. He doesn’t bother properly closing the door behind him, just pushes it as far as it wants to go, and turns the shower on. He waits for the water to heat up, one hand held under the showerhead and studies his reflection in the mirror. Tries to, anyway, because he doesn’t have his glasses on and all he can really see is a messy looking blur.

He hears Lily begin waking up, her voice low as she greets Sirius. There’s a moment of silence and then she’s laughing. She’s always been sunlight personified; bright and wonderful and warm. Her laugh is no different, really. Just an extension of the rest of her brilliance. Sirius joins after a while and the sound of it is almost disbelieving, like he’s surprised to find it funny.

The thought of them out there, happy with each other, is what makes James smile as he gets into the shower. He isn’t silly, he knows it’s going to be hard to figure out where they go from here. But the sound of their joint laughter is enough to give him hope that they’ll get there.

.

2021

His shirt collar bites into his neck, no matter how much he fusses with it. If it weren’t for the fact that Lily’s mother is sitting next to him, he’d have already unbuttoned at least two buttons and loosened his tie. He’s vaguely aware that the reason he’s even allowed to sit with the family of the bride is because Lily made the poor choice of dating him. Sirius sits on his other side, hair down for once, and James can’t decide if it’s better or worse that he knows it’s so Sirius can hide the hickey just below his left ear.

Lily isn’t here. She’d been whisked away as soon as they’d clambered out of their tiny car yesterday afternoon, and they haven’t seen her since. That in itself isn’t a problem; they’ve had _no_ trouble entertaining themselves without her. _The problem_ is as follows: James knows how much Lily hates spending time with her sister, _and_ just how few there are in the bridal party. Whether Petunia’s even still alive is apparently a mystery that will go unanswered until the ceremony starts. Lily’s mum had just laughed when he’d asked, which could mean anything, really.

James fiddles with the sleeves of his jacket, staring down at the way his fingers twist in the material. He sees Sirius’ hand reach out across to his, gently pulling it free and sliding their fingers together. James is uncomfortably aware that his palms are sweaty, but Sirius doesn’t seem to mind because his grip only tightens when James tries to pull free.

“Relax.” Sirius’ voice is quiet, mouth suddenly against the shell of James’ ear and it’s only because _Lily’s mother_ is sat next to him that he doesn’t react. The smile he feels against his face tells him Sirius knows it, too, the wanker.

James doesn’t answer, just uses his free hand to push Sirius’ face away. He tries not to flush at the amused look Lily’s mum gives them, but the heat in his cheeks suggests he’s not been completely successful. He shoots Sirius a glare, only to be met with a quick kiss to the forehead. Whatever hopes he had of hiding his embarrassment before beat a quick retreat at this and he ducks his head.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere around them, the back of the room tittering as soft music begins to play. Vernon stands at the front of the room, looking furious at the fact he’s about to get married. James wishes he had something nice to say about him, but what can you say about a man as odiously awful as Vernon Dursley? James has heard his opinions on… everything – from Europe to mental illness to “the gays”, and it’s enough to make him steer as clear as possible.

Marge is first down the aisle, tromping between the rows of chairs looking eerily like someone’s forced a particularly large and angry pug into a dress. The man accompanying her is someone James has never personally met, and voluntarily being a part of _Petunia’s_ wedding party doesn’t say much for him as a person, but he still can’t help feeling just a little bit sorry for him. Nobody deserves the punishment that is Marge.

He’s surprised to see that Lily looks happy when it’s her turn. Although having a miserable sister-of-the-bride would _perhaps_ put a noticeable damper on things. Still, James likes to think he knows Lily well enough to tell when her happiness is fake, and the smile she’s wearing suggests she’s being honest. He briefly wonders what she’s done to Petunia to put her in such a good mood, but then she catches his eye and her smile becomes so radiant he forgets everything else. Sirius leans into him, and together they watch her take her place at the altar, hiding their giggles (and they _are_ giggles, he’s not even going to try and deny it) when she crosses her eyes at them and pulls a face. 

The bridal march begins and then Petunia is there, hand tucked into the crease of her father’s elbow as he leads her down the aisle. She looks like one of those old toiler paper covers his nan had when he was a kid, her dress big and ruffled and white. It’s like the nineties came calling and nobody’s had the heart to tell it to leave yet. He zones out when Petunia takes Vernon’s hand, both of them looking equally unhappy to be there, and stares out the window.

“Enjoying yourself?” Lily asks, a little while later when they’re seated in the grand dining room of the hotel. She’s leaning over their shoulders, face between theirs and a hand on either shoulder. There are chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, a mosaic of light dancing across the plaster as they sway gently.

“I’d rather be… literally anywhere else.” Sirius mutters back, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear as he lifts his champagne flute to his lips. James catches a brief glimpse of darkened skin and resolutely stares at the old lady opposite them, fingers tight around the stem of his own glass. Lily laughs in his ear and knocks her forehead against his temple gently.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this.” She says, fingers playing with the hair at the back of Sirius’ neck. James watches Sirius’ own hand lift to Lily’s waist and smiles. Sirius doesn’t do public displays of affection unless he’s proving a point to the world, so the brief, rare moments where he does, just for the sake of _doing_ , are worth celebrating.

“And leave you to suffer alone?” James teases, digging his elbow into her ribs. “What kind of arseholes do you think we are?”

“Smart ones.” The fact she doesn’t actually deny that they’re arseholes is enough to make him snort, which is unfortunate seeing as he’s just taken a sip of champagne. He wipes it off his chin, fighting down a smile as Lily laughs at him. “No, but seriously, thank you.”

“Evans,” Sirius says, rolling his eyes and making a big show of shrugging his shoulders, “we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t wanna be.”

James watches Lily’s eyes go soft. She smooths her hand through Sirius’ hair one last time and then straightens out. “You’re alright, Black.”

“I should hope so.” Sirius says drily. He pushes away from the table, careful to avoid treading on Lily’s toes as he gets to his feet. “I want a fag. All these old people are giving me a rash.”

There is no question as to whether James follows him, because there’s no way he’s staying in this room without him. They must be a sight, the three of them, as they traipse across the room towards a set of double doors that lead out into the hotel’s expansive grounds.

It’s dark out, which means that there isn’t really all that much to see in the distance, but the patio is both well lit _and_ pretty. A few plant boxes line the walls, interspersed with wooden benches and the kind of outdoor lamps that charge during the day.

The bench Sirius chooses to stand in front of is _fucking_ cold when James sits down, but he bites down any complaints he may have because Lily is smiling her warmest smile; the one that makes her eyes soft around the edges and makes James feel like he can do anything.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Lily says to both of them. She shrugs when Sirius snorts at her. “If it weren’t for you I would have already had _at least_ three arguments with Petunia.”

“If you’re trying to tell me you didn’t have one this morning, I’m calling bullshit.” James says with a grin. Lily pulls a face at him and then steps forward so she can sit on his knees. He grunts as she rearranges her weight and sighs when she reaches back to wrap his arms around her.

“That wasn’t a proper argument.” Lily protests, which sends both James and Sirius into sniggers. “It was like… the warm-up round. And it wouldn’t have happened if she’d listened to me when I said her dress made her look like a cake topper.”

“Evans,” Sirius says, lips curling around the unlit cigarette in his mouth, “you’re a piece of work.”

“Rich, coming from you.” Lily counters, reaching out and grabbing his free hand between hers. And here’s where the beautiful, miraculous part happens: he lets her. He doesn’t pull away like he would have done a year before. He lets it happen and although Lily’s shoulder is blocking his view, James thinks he sees Sirius hold hers back.

“I hate weddings.” Sirius says, instead of actually answering her. He finally lights his cigarette and inhales deeply.

“We’re lucky he’s been on his best behaviour.” James mutters. He shoots Sirius an amused look, mouth twitching. “We could have had a repeat of Andromeda’s wedding all over again.”

“Hey,” Sirius protests. “Andy was cool with it, and Ted thought it was funny.”

Lily looks like she’s torn about whether to ask or not, but then seems to decide better of it. Sometimes, with these two, it’s just best not to know. “We can probably get away with leaving soon.”

“Thank Christ.” Sirius sighs. He crushes what’s left of his cigarette on the wall and throws the butt into the grass on the other side. “We don’t have to pretend to be happy for them do we? I’m gonna need more champagne if we do.”

“No.” Lily laughs. “I’ve got express permission from Mum that we can go as soon as the first dance is over. I told her you have work tomorrow.”

“Lying to your own mother to get out of something? We’ve corrupted you.” Sirius says, letting go of Lily’s hand so he can straighten his jacket. “Where’s our innocent Lily gone?”

“Lily hasn’t been innocent since she was, like, five.” James scoffs, but he can’t escape the elbow she drives into his ribs. “D’you reckon it counts if we dance before they do?”

“I wish.” Lily says. She twists a stray bit of hair around her finger and, when she can’t get it to clip back into place, tucks it behind her ear. “If it weren’t for the fact I know Petunia, I’d swear she was going this on purpose and not just because she likes the attention.”

“It’s _because_ I know Petunia that I’m not ruling it out as a possibility.” James says, pushing Lily off his lap so he can stand back up. His knees crack, making Sirius pull a face, but it’s not like he can help it.

James would be lying if he said they didn’t head straight for the bar as soon as they stepped back into the dining room. Sirius takes two champagne glasses for himself, holding one out of Lily’s reach with a wicked grin when she reaches for one of them. Instead of being deterred, Lily rises up onto her toes, and it’s only James’ quick intervention that prevents them from both ending up covered in champagne. He tries not to look smug as he takes a sip.

“Wanker.” Sirius huffs, although there’s no bite to it and he’s clearly fighting a smile. He turns back to the bar and grabs another glass, this time passing it to Lily.

“ _Thank_ you.” Lily says, clutching the glass, not entirely convinced he won’t try and take it back.

Sirius watches her for a moment, eyebrow raised, before he turns back to stare out at the other guests. Petunia and Vernon sit at the head table, their immediate family stretched out on either side. It’s only because James is paying attention to Petunia in particular that he even sees the furious look she’s sending their way.

“If they don’t have this bloody dance soon, I think Petunia might kill us. Lily, at the very least.”

“Because it’s _our_ fault.” Sirius says, downing half his glass in one gulp. James watches his Adam’s apple bob, catches the way his fingers curl around the stem, and lifts his own glass to his mouth.

“It’s either take it out on Vernon’s feet, or us.” Lily places her glass, untouched, on the bar. “Leave it to me, chums.”

James never knows what Lily does when she says that. He’s happy to just assume that the fabric of the universe bends to her will.

What he does know is that a few minutes after Lily disappears, they make an announcement signalling that the “happy” couple will be having their first dance.

What follows is arguably the unhappiest looking first dance James thinks he’s ever seen. The music is… generic, at best; the kind of music that plays in the background of every tv wedding. Vernon looks as if he’s mentally trying to construct flatpack furniture, his brow furrowed heavily and breathing laboured. Petunia, for her part, looks slightly happier, although there’s always been a sense of ingenuity to every emotion she’s ever had. It shows in the way her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, in the way her mouth is tight at the corners.

It doesn’t stop the people around them from cheering, clapping as Vernon jerkily leads her around the dancefloor. James sees Sirius down another glass out of the corner of his eye, and he’s tempted to join him. Before he can, however, Lily reappears at his elbow, changed out of her dress and into casual clothes, hair tumbling down around her shoulders.

“We’re free to go.” She says and Sirius’ shoulders slump in what James can only assume is relief.

“I’ll get the car.” He says, both because he’s the designated driver and because he has the car keys in his pocket. They’d checked out this morning, so their bags are already in the car. He takes Sirius’ face between his hands and looks him in the eye. “ _You_ , go for a piss before we leave, please. I’m not spending over an hour looking for the services again.”

“Hey!” Sirius protests, but he’s loose and pliant when James pushes him towards the door. He turns back just before he’s out the door and kisses James. It’s nothing special, just a quick press of warm, dry lips against James’ own, but it still makes his breath catch in his throat.

“Gooooo.” Lily commands from behind them, handbag slung over her shoulder, and where she got it from is a mystery James will never figure out.

Sirius wanders off in the direction of the toilets, and Lily links her arm through James’. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

Sirius already has James’ art inked into his skin, forever etched onto his hip. It’s how James knows that the piece of paper sitting in his bag is the right choice. That he might not ever be able to marry both of them, but that doesn’t mean he can’t show them his devotion. It’s why he’s spent the past three months painstakingly working on a design for each of them. That he’s so excited to show them it feels like he might burst.

He thinks of that piece of paper, and he smiles. “Let’s go home.”

.

2028

He hears the music long before they get anywhere near the school gates. It’s loud, echoing off the houses around them so it feels like it’s coming from every direction. Poppy and upbeat, and the kind of artificial happy that puts James on edge. The little boy a few paces in front of them doesn’t seem to feel the same way, though, because he’s singing along, making half the words up and cackling to himself.

“James,” Sirius says, voice nearly flat, _almost_ void of any emotion, “your son is weird.” If it weren’t for the fact that they’re holding hands and James can feel the idle stroke of Sirius’ thumb over his knuckles, he might believe him.

“ _My_ son, huh?” He tilts his head, watches the way Sirius’ mouth moves as he fights a smile.

“I made no contribution to his creation.” Sirius decides, and although he successfully hides his smile, James sees it anyway. Sees it in the way he stands up straight, the way his nose scrunches as he sniffs, the way he tugs at his hair. He knocks their shoulders together and steps further into James’ space. “I refuse to take responsibility.”

“You were definitely involved.” James mutters, huffing at the look Sirius gives him. He watches Harry as he strides purposefully down the pavement, arms swinging as he sings, his hands waving to an audience only he can see. “But fair enough, I suppose.”

Harry comes to a stop, arms falling back down by his sides. He spins on his heel and smiles, big and wide and it remains the sweetest thing James has ever seen. “Daddy, _c’mon_.”

“You’re so impatient, sprout.” Sirius reprimands. He’s not smiling, but James can hear the way his laughter threads between his words, weaves around the edges and it leaves his voice warm. He doesn’t loosen his grip on James’ hand, which means that when he quickens his pace, he drags James along with him.

Harry reaches out as soon as they’re within reach, small fingers wrapping around Sirius’ wrist. Sirius _does_ smile at that, and it doesn’t matter how small it is, it takes James’ breath away every time he sees it. There’s something about the way Sirius smiles at Harry that makes James’ brain short-circuit; the way his eyes go soft and gentle, the way his nose scrunches. 

And when Sirius turns that smile on _him_? It’s like the universe has granted him everything he’s ever dreamt of, no matter how fleeting. James readily admits to being a lovestruck _idiot_ , but it’s times like this that he realises just how bad he’s got it. It’s awe-inspiring. It’s a privilege.

Sirius tuts at him, snorting when Harry copies him, and it’s enough to get James moving again. Harry slots himself between them this time, in what James thinks is an attempt to keep them all walking. He pulls on their hands in a way they both recognise, and it’s with a roll of his eyes that James lifts him up on the next swing. Harry cackles as his feet leave the ground, head thrown back as he laughs.

“You’re heavy.” Sirius complains a few minutes later. They haven’t made it very far down the street because every time they don’t lift him high enough, Harry makes them go back and do it again. Sirius tugs at the hair curled around Harry’s ear. “It’s all this that’s weighing you down.”

“You’ve got more than me!” Harry protests, ducking out of the way so he can frown up at them both. James isn’t sure how any of this is his fault, but apparently it is. It’s one of the joys of being tied to Sirius as intrinsically as he is.

“Yeah, but I’m bigger than you.” Sirius says, the gesture he makes to prove his point is completely unnecessary, but James finds it obnoxiously endearing anyway. “It all balances out.”

Harry doesn’t look like he particularly believes him, but he clearly doesn’t care enough to argue because he drops their hands and races ahead. There’s a familiar gaggle of ginger kids congregated on the corner up ahead, their mother standing with her hands on her hips as she undoubtedly nags at at least one of them.

“Harry!” James shouts. “Carefully, please.”

Harry’s sprint becomes a slow jog almost immediately and he shoots a sheepish look over his shoulder. His attention doesn’t waver from the group ahead, but James doesn’t mind as much now that he isn’t hurtling towards potential danger.

“Unruly child.” Sirius comments, hand sliding back into James’ with a squeeze.

“He gets it from you.” James says. He huffs out a laugh when Sirius’ raps his knuckles against James’ forehead. “No self-control.”

“Because you’re such a paragon of virtue.” James doesn’t flush. He doesn’t. He doesn’t think of the fact they’ll have the flat to themselves, either. Doesn’t feel excitement coil in his chest.

“My mum raised me to be a good boy.” It still hits him, sometimes, just how _dumb_ he is. That he's still surprised when his mouth and brain don’t quite work in tandem and he says things that are just plain stupid.

Sirius ignores any potential quip and instead strokes his thumb over the back of James knuckles. “And I love her for it.”

There’s a weight in James’ heart, an ever present sadness just behind the eyes, but he smiles anyway. “Me too.”

The Weasley’s have always been a loud bunch; full of life and love and laughter. The first to see them is Ron, who immediately darts out from under his mother’s stern hand, so he can launch himself into Harry’s path. They collide, a tangle of limbs and hair, as James is fairly sure he sees Harry’s head connect with Ron’s chin. Neither of them seem to mind, though, so happy they are to be together.

“Afternoon, gents.” James greets the rest of the Weasley clan as they all turn to look at what’s making the commotion. Molly smiles warily at their approach. “Molly.”

“Good afternoon.” James has no illusions as to how Molly Weasley feels about him. She’s never been particularly good at hiding her emotions; confusion, distrust and vague disapproval blending together into a cocktail of wariness.

“Mum, we’re going to be late.” Percy says, as if the idea of being late to a _school disco_ is a personal offence. The little James knows of Percy suggests that that might actually be true.

“Come on, then.” Molly sighs, a long, drawn out thing that says more of her weariness than the bags under her eyes do. She takes Percy by the elbow, because there’s no way she’s going to get a hand on either Fred or George, and Ron is too wrapped around Harry to notice.

“Sprout.” Sirius says, and Harry looks up, eyes alight with happiness. “Time to go.”

“Okay.” He takes Ron’s hand and pulls him, laughing when they trip over each other’s feet.

The playground is busy, children shouting across the tarmac at their friends, the more energetic of them darting between clusters of people. Harry pauses before he crosses the threshold, arm pulling taut as Ron keeps going. James thinks for a moment that they’re going to stay together, but then Ron is untangling their fingers so he can go stand by his mother.

Harry looks sad for a moment, before his gaze shifts to the left, and then he’s smiling again.

“You’re here.” James’ head shoots up at the sound of Lily’s voice. “Finally.”

“ _Someone_ didn’t want to get dressed.” James says, head tipping in Harry’s direction.

“Just because I didn’t want to put shoes on…” Sirius trails off, and James doesn’t miss the wink he sends in Harry’s direction. “Oh, wait, you meant Harry.”

Lily’s smile is warm, her eyes fond. She smooths a hand through Harry’s hair, and her fingers are gentle as she works through the knots.

“Why doesn’t _that_ surprise me?” Harry’s look turns bashful, and he ducks his head, stepping closer to Lily.

“Hello, Miss Evans.” A kid James has never seen before says, seemingly appearing out of thin air. She looks so serious, standing there in her smart dress and flat shoes, hands crossed in front of her. There’s a headband attempting to keep her hair in check, but it looks like it’s fighting a losing battle.

“Good afternoon, Hermione.” Lily says, and with that she’s switched into what Sirius refers to as Teacher Mode.

James realises it’s time to go, that if they stay any longer it’ll just be more of the same, and so takes a step back. But not before he ruffles Harry’s hair, and undoes whatever good Lily might have managed.

“ _Dad_.” Harry complains, hands lifting to try and flatten his hair again.

“Have fun. Don’t drink too much.” Sirius says, laughing when James shoves him back out onto the pavement. “We _love_ you.”

Lily catches his eye as he gives Harry one last wave, mouth curving in the way that says “You’re both lucky I love you”. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because Sirius is dragging him back down the street.

“Would you behave?” He says. He’s fully aware that it’s a lost cause, and that he’s going to be stuck with Sirius for the rest of his life.

And honestly? It was a lost cause the moment eleven year old James Potter looked Sirius Black in the eye and knew he’d found home.


End file.
